Level of Awareness
by BC
Summary: You look at me and see a twelve-year-old. I want it like that. Who's interested in what goes on in my head? Well... for all I care... Use me as you wish if Al gets the life he deserves. EdxRoy, Ed's POV.
1. Dash! Automail

Disclaimer: I don't own FMA; neither do I make any profit of this story

Disclaimer: I don't own FMA; neither do I make any profit of this story.

Warnings: slash of the RoyxEd variety, sexual situations, swearing, violence

A/N:This is a repost.

Originally it was just a little attempt on something different – my first first-person point of view. I found that while it was enjoyable to read, it definitely needed editing, so I'm presenting a polished, sparkling new version.

The story follows the series and is actually sort-of compatible. The first scene starts during the 5th episode, around 17:30; the following ones are either new or adapted from the anime and recognisable. Hopefully.

Brynn

A

Prologue: Dash! Automail

A

This freak makes me really mad… or as close as I get to being mad. My calculation is: the world's going to be a lot better place without him.

I don't _really_ know the man who's trying to help me, but he's obviously too kind a person for his own good. I mean… never mind…

"Before I'll kill the General, I kill you."

That's exactly what I meant. This person's one of those, who make my heart ache with all the pain that isn't mine, but which I just can't ignore. To think that there is a man who could aim a gun at a little girl in her mother's arms… because of what? Money? Revenge? What the Hell is worth killing children?

"Wait!"

Not the brightest thing to say, but it definitely works. I didn't need more than a second, and a boyish voice yelling something as out of place works as a perfect distraction. I kick the rooflight open and lose the last bits of my self-control. I jump into a right mess – a lovely squashing match with the one-eyed freak. He has an automail arm… It serves to illustrate my rage that a man four times my weight doesn't manage to throw me off or squeeze me into a tiny ball of meat. Damn my four feet something, I am standing my ground damn well.

"Ha… an automail buddy…" I drawl, slowly getting the grip on myself but never ceding the pressure on my enemy's hands.

The bubble of self-conscious cruelty speaks: "A kid? The military uses the kids, too?"

Surprised? There are countries where you can enter the army as soon as you're sixteen. And then there are countries where a boy gets a gun when he can carry it, is shown what the enemy looks like and left to fend for himself. How many do you think survive the first battle? Too many, each of them having killed a handful of grown men… without a second thought… because they had to…

Because otherwise they wouldn't have survived.

"Sorry for being a kid." That about cuts it. Is it my fault? Yes, of course it is my fault that I am only twelve and my brother is only eleven and we were left half a body together. "But I'm not being used."

"Kid, let me tell you something," he says, almost congenially.

Tell me what? What could _you_ know that I don't? I know about everything there is to know. I know abstract and concrete, I know light and darkness, humanity with all its sewers of crime and the most insidious methods of wrenching a life from its owner. The rat poison, for instance, is purple. I _do_ feel like feeding some to you… but even I don't have the guts to watch you scream in pain as it would slowly eat away on your body… impossible to stop. Speak before I'm done with you; you won't have the chance later.

"I was in the military long time ago. When I was there I wanted to equip myself with something better. But the military didn't like that."

This is the omega. What kind of person does have their own hand cut off? Tears are pressing in my eyes, but I blink them away. The match is getting frustrating and the thought of what I would give to have my missing hand… Some people have so much that they don't know to value it.

"They feared that I was going to become stronger." Stronger? You pathetic murdering fool. You're the grime on the soles of soldiers' boots. "After I received the surgery to get this they threw me away." A mistake. They should have killed you. "That's why… that's why… I want to destroy the military!"

The tears are long since forgotten as my stomach clenches. I feel I'm going to be sick, hopefully all over that freak. Unfortunately, I can't afford such petty metaphor.

"You understand that, right? If you have that arm, you must've wished for the same thing I did… You wished to become stronger than anyone…"

I snap. I am completely, perfectly, eerily calm. There is no way to undo this man, no way to just erase his crimes. There is no way to make him not exist. There is nothing I can do. Only a blackness of everything these accusations are supposed to mean and the fact that I managed to push them out, close it without myself, exists.

"I don't understand at all," I tell him earnestly and glance at my right arm. "Don't compare my automail… to your _cheap_ automail." Winry would be proud. The mass of metal _he_ drags with him was crushed in only five fingers. I allow myself a smirk as the reaction throws him backwards into… Al.

Yeah, Al. A light in my darkness.

I force the unbecoming expression off my face before he spots it as I slide into my role of a brother.

Al gives the freak a punch that is rather… mild, I would say, but from Al's point of view the way of punishing the worst evil-doers – that and a long recreation in prison.

I hope your light never goes out, Al. I'll do all I can to ensure that: a relieved sigh is the first thing, a thumb-up the second. You have done well, my brother. We have pleased Roy Mustang's minion. Maybe he'll help us after all.

A

The railway station looks like… well, like a railway station in the times of relative peace. There are trains and a few people; a platform with a group of bound men, of which the most have been captured by Al and me, with some help from those military guys. It is quite a pity that the Hughes person is in the military as well.

There is a man coming up to them… no, coming straight up to the bloke whose automail I've crushed. It's _him_, there's no doubt about that. Colonel Roy Mustang. He looks like he sounds: like he knows what he's doing. If he does… he really is a rare specimen.

"Don't kill anyone," he speaks and I feel the corners of my mouth turn upwards. He damn well knows. No wonder those two uniformed blondes behind him are all stuck up. "That is what I told you."

Sheesh, the man has style. That's something I won't ever be able to afford. On the other hand, it isn't as if I was interested in women, and who else looks at the style? Maybe some good things come from being a child when one is supposed to act like a child.

"Looks like you listened to me even if it was against your will."

Bullshit. But the female escort is getting starry-eyed… well, not on the outside. She hides it well. But not well enough.

"You're Mustang?" the freak asks and I can just watch as he cuts the manacles with what's left of his 'improvement'. Well… yeah, if that had been a human hand, he wouldn't have been able to free himself… though he wouldn't have gotten himself into this situation either.

I admit – I am curious what's Mustang going to do, even if only to know my enemy. I – _we_, Al helped me – smote one enemy today. The other just reared his head… and he looks like he's going to be worth all the effort.

He snaps his fingers.

"Wow.."

He's going to be worth _all_ the effort.

Now I can just be glad for the mispronouncing thing when I phoned him. He's going to severely underestimate me and that's just what I want. Let the whole world see me for what I'm supposed to be: a twelve-year-old kid.

"I went easy on you," Mustang remarks nonchalantly. "That shouldn't have affected your body as badly as it looks." Show-off. "I am Roy Mustang. My rank is Lieutenant Colonel." A _bloody fucking_ show-off. "And I am the Flame Alchemist."

I already hate him… or as close as I get to hating someone. You could say… mild dislike. Al, however, doesn't have to know.

"Remember that."

Sure I will.

"That guy is Mustang…" I say, without adding: 'and he looks like he _yearns_ to meet me'. I, naturally, will let him have the pleasure.

"Nii-san!" Al shouts at my back. I ignore him.

"Lieutenant Colonel!" Oh, _wow_. _He looked at me_. I'm sooo flattered. I think I'll start drooling right now… Jerk. "You put us on this train knowing about this didn't you?"

"We didn't know everything," he replies, cooler than a cucumber. Of course. "By the way, I have good news."

Good for you or good for us, I wonder.

"The General has heard of your accomplishment-" Sure he has. I'm so disgusted with myself – running around and saving people who give orders to kill. "-and he will be giving the two of you a special permission to take the National Alchemist test."

He _so_ knows what he's doing. No tiny little detail escapes him. He's made us run after the train so he could now smirk and tell us that yes, we get to try and become the dogs of military. Yes, we do receive the permission to become slaves to people without moral. Such joy. Should I smile at you, dogface?

Not in front of Al.

"Special? You told us to take it, that's why we…!"

He smiles… smirks… whatever he does that makes his face split open.

"There's no way that children can take an important military test."

Yeah, I noticed. The children don't take the tests, they're just stood in the front line while the properly tested people sit up on the hill, drink tea and comment on weather, vintage and the progress of the battle.

"See? Aren't you glad that I made you get on that train?"

Take one more step, bastard, and I'll decorate your face with the imprint of my sole… the left one. Damn it. I won't get to do it today, but I swear, Mustang, one day there will be you and me and I'll wipe that smirk of your face. I _swear_. Still, Al doesn't deserve to see something like that…

And get that hand off of my shoulder. I'm not your son; don't get patronising with me.

"It's your choice whether you take the test or not," he allows amicably.

Oh! Thank you for your permission to decide for myself, oh Mustang-dono!

I steal a sideways peek at Al. He looks contemplative. We _have_ to do this. I know it's not a good idea, brother, but it's the only one I have. I've got to boost your spirits.

"Of course I will! I'll… I'll take the test!"

Mustang leaves. Hughes is smiling as if we were stray kittens who found the way home and bloody Mustang was the best cat-owner walking Amestris. I bet he's got tin cat-food and hectolitres of milk. Urhg.

I hate him.


	2. Dog Test

Thanks for the kind reviews!  
You know, this is actually a lot more fun when I watch the respective episode as a background…:-)) Aaand: I can already promise you eight parts of this story, which in the end would _not_ stray from the original story-line of the anime. It's _compatible_. :-))  
Enjoy  
Brynn

Chapter 1: Dog Test

"So, did you decide to take the test?" 

_Haven't I said that thousand times over? I know you listened – you listen to everything that's going on around you. Do you think I'm stupid? Blind? Indecisive?_

_And Al, as always, is going to take it with me. I still don't know if it's a good idea. And still it's my only… And Al will stay by my side. He does that. I don't dare imagine what would happen to me if he left._

"_Of course!" I hear myself saying with the kind of childish enthusiasm that's expected of me… and a bit more sarcasm, but I guess I can't suppress that. Mustang-guy wouldn't believe my ultra-innocent act anyway. I have attempted a human transmutation and he knows it. No point trying to deny it, then._

"_Shall I wag my tail while I'm at it?"_

_He's smiling. He had anticipated that. Now he thinks he knows me inside out and can predict each of my steps. I hope I'll never be accused of transparency, Colonel._

"Very well…" 

That was long ago, and since then I've learnt so many things… how to talk to little children. Where do they come from (though I've had the medical part down for quite some time). How rich do National Alchemists get. How to transmute things without drawing a circle.

I didn't tell Al. He doesn't need to know… not yet… because now it all makes perfect sense. How Sensei always could transmute things just by clapping. Why she warned us so strictly against human transmutation. And why she's sick.

Not everyone misses something as obvious as a hand.

I'm getting distracted… instead of writing the answers I'm musing… and the only chance on being enrolled in the military anytime soon is slipping through my fingers. Al's too studious – he's going to do better on this part than I… and that's the trouble. Because for all Mustang's knowledge, not even he is able to smuggle Al through the medical examination and I'm not as stupid as to believe he is. But I don't have to take away Al's hopes prematurely. Let him be happy that he's smarter than I.

He is.

Damn… time's running up…

A

"What! I can't agree to that!"

Oh Al. I should have prepared you for this… Then again… I don't know. When it comes to emotions, I'm rather inept. And that's saying it _very_ nice.

"Why shouldn't I take the interview!"

I'm staring at the ground; I can't bring myself to look him in the eye. I have the feeling that I've betrayed him again. I don't know how, it's all just irrational and I understand only that rational part of the world. Al's upset. I don't know what to do.

"If you wish to hide your past and move forward, that is the only way."

He's right. He's damn right… but it's not a way to put that for a child. But I don't know any other way either. For a while I'm glad that Mustang is here because otherwise it would have had to be me who tells this to Al… I don't want Al to hate me. I couldn't survive that.

"But I need to reach the same goal as brother!"

Yeah, I know, but that doesn't mean that you have to be involved in the same way. It's all for the better that you won't have to shoot if they order you to. It's… it's like the other side. I don't want to see children killing or being killed. I don't want such things to happen in the world.

"Let it be, Al."

"What?" He's looking at me, startled. He doesn't understand. I beam up at him, pushing all the bitterness out of my mind, even though my jaw is clenched. He sees himself; I'm only a mirror.

"Didn't Auntie Pinako say that National Alchemists get called to duty when a war breaks out?" Think, brother. I can't begin to describe what a war is about, and I don't want you tainted by a mere imagination of that. It had twisted me. It had twisted Mustang. I saw more, but he was there. We're different in our understanding of war, but neither of us wants you there.

For being a total jerk, Mustang does have a beating heart somewhere deep, buried under loads of crap.

"And they have to kill people using Alchemy-" Can you even imagine that, little brother? Don't look at me, look at Mustang's face. He had seen it. For all that is pure, he might have _done_ it. Look into his eyes.

"-which is supposed to be for the good of the public. If you pass, you become a dog of the military."

The smile on my face is stiff, but the shadows of the narrow alley are more than thick enough to conceal that.

"But-" Don't argue Al.

"Only one of us has to endure the shame of being a National Alchemist. So I'll become one for sure and make your wish come true." Our wish.

"Oh… Brother…"

Don't look at me like that, Al. Isn't it enough what I just did? Mustang is a bastard, but he's been helping us all along. He has even come here today to make all of this easier for me (though from his point of view it looks like he's come to persuade us both), and my 'thanks' is making him disgusted with himself. I wonder what must it feel like to have a child call you a shame for the crimes you have commited… I'm not a child, but he doesn't know that.

Oh bugger! Now I'm sympathising with the guy!

A

A golden tripod. Couldn't they think of anything easier? It's a child play – Al could do this when he was six. Well, maybe not draw the pattern you need to stabilise the flow of energies, but definitely to keep it once the circle was drawn…

And they give it to me all? I thought it was supposed to be a test?

Then again… I'm just a kid.

"A golden tripod? Why doesn't it fall in that position?" Because Mustang or some underling keeps it there.

"Sit."

That is the Fuhrer? I don't like him. Not like Mustang – I don't like Mustang, but I would entrust him with Al's life. I wouldn't entrust this man with a broken cenz.

"If you are a true Alchemist, the chair will not reject you."

Bullshit. If you've seen the pattern before, you could sit comfortably on a chair with _one_ leg. True Alchemist. Really.

"Alchemist, have no fear at any time."

Yup, and get killed. I'm having the goose-bumps just from looking at you. But that doesn't mean that I'm not going to sit down.

See? Easy.

"Very good. First, let me hear the reason you took the exam."

They never get less predictable? What did I fabricate for this question?

"That's…"

"That's?"

Poor Mustang is nervous. Let him stew.

"That's because I promised to my only family member that I would become a National Alchemist!"

Eat that, scavengers.

A

It's all in my head. I can't ever get rid of it. It a morbid way I wouldn't do it, though it's strange to watch other people transmute things and present five options how to do it better. The first attempt seemed quite nice on the first sight, but the poor bloke used some totally insensible curves in the pattern and ended up draining himself – how stupid is that? And, if you look properly, the reflection of the sun is off; that means he had made the foundation shoddy. The whole piece of metal and stone is going to fall on his head anytime… counting from the angle of the rays it needs only as much as a small bump. And no one says anything.

Geeze, they even let him sit there. He could do with a cup of sweet water.

I don't like the second man. He's sort of Mustangish – which could explain it – but Mustang is cocky because he has a reason to be. This man doesn't. He's just a show off – but one who read too many books. One glance at the Colonel proves that he thinks this man is dangerous.

Better for me. There are two rivals out of the game.

Trees and water?

He wants to kill us all? Cause he could, quite easily… even with that circle… takes only a little effort to transmute a bomb. Four, three, two… one… kaboom. Bye, bye, murderers of thousands of people… am I really going to serve _them_?

He created paper and hydrogene from trees and water? Maybe he's not _that_ much of a show off. That was… mediocre.

Oh, shit.

What kind of dumbass makes a baloon that gets ripped by a gust of wind?

I'm looking around and the only person I see who's not panicking is predictably Mustang. He has his gloves on and as far as I can see is prepared to scorch anything in his way… trouble is, you can't burn everything. And you can't always save people with fire. He knows that. He hesitates.

It's too late; the remnants of the paper baloon thing hit the cranky tower and it's falling down in _big_ pieces – right on the head of the man who's too stupid to make a proper circle, too weak to get his arse out of there, and too unfortunate to be remembered by medics. If they even do have a medic somewere in the screaming crowd.

Before I know what I'm doing my feet move; I'm running towards him and, screw secrets, Al will have to understand… Even a single life is worth more than the ease of my mind. I would have drawn a circle if I had a second more, but there is no second and there is no one but me between the falling rocks and the crouching bloke.

I clap, leap forwards and smash my palms in the ground.

I glance at Mustang – he knows.

Fat lot of good did your charm do, Nina. I hope you'll never find out. I hope you'll remember only a lot of flower petals falling from the sky. That's the censored version for children like you.

God, I cannot imagine anyone would be able to hurt a sweet kid like you.


	3. Hagane no

Thanks to everyone who reviewed! Enjoy.  
Brynn

Chapter 2: Hagane no

It doesn't happen often to me that I cry. I thought that I've cried all my tears back then, trying to get over the ensemble cruelty of the world but… it's so different when you're actually there. When it is someone you know.

I cry now; there are tears in my eyes, and I cry and I'm so disgusted with myself, because I coud have killed him. I wanted to kill him, I… I didn't because… I don't even know why. I just know that I didn't kill him. I should have. I really… Nina.

I want to retch.

I don't. I… what? Why? I'm flooded with questions, but there are no answers, just a numb emptiness and incomprehension. How could someone hurt a sweet kid like you? There were no flower petals, no good-luck charm, just a circle, a flash of light and…

I'm staring at my hands. Alchemist's hands. Right now I hate Alchemy.

Alphonse shouldn't have seen that.

He took it better than I did, but… I'm not sure he really understands. That he can _comprehend_. I'd like to think that he can not.

"It's a useless effort."

I hate how he sounds so cool so… so… nauseatingly indifferent. I hate… hate… no, I don't hate. Actually… I don't know. I don't know what to think about him. He's trying something. I cannot think. Right now, I'm too sick to figure out what I otherwise would notice just by looking. He knows. He abuses it.

"It is impossible to rebuild a life form that has completely lost its life."

_I_ know! _I_ know better than anyone! Do you have to rub it in, you stinking-

"No matter how good an Alchemist you are."

I gulp. Is that what I've just tried – Yes, it is. Good thing that there wasn't more… more left. I would have done it again. I can't. I could but I can't. There is no God. I knew it, but this makes it crystal-clear.

"Who will become happy after reviving a defective chimera?"

I know. I know it's better for her like this, but what about me? What about _Al_? I don't care about principles all that much. I don't want Al to hurt. He does. Look at him, you jerk. Fuck me, Al is the one who needs to be ripped out of this nightmare.

"There will be much harsher things down the path you two chose. You must accept this, even if you have to force yourself to, and move on."

I know that, but Al doesn't. What gives _you_ the right to tell him this?

"Accept this!"

He's going to hit me?

I'm crouching, weary from fear and grief and nausea and hunger and fight and from staying up all night; I'm not strong enough to stand up against him now. But he only holds my wrist and looks into my face.

"You have some goal you wish to accomplish, right? Do you have time to stand around idle?"

I don't know how but I'm standing straight. On my own. My face regains the most calm indifference I've known in all my life and I feel hollow. Hollow and powerful. Like I could crush anything. Kill. Slaughter. I could slay Mustang right now. Easily. He wouldn't know what hit him – he certainly woudn't have time to snap.

I don't do it. I'm not the killing sort. But the realisation that I _can_ makes me frown and then inwardly laugh. I know there's the slightly insane glint in my eyes but, oh yes, this is the path that I chose.

"The rest is the Investigation Department's job. Get out of the way."

I will. You can bet I will. Hughes can have the entire blotch of blood all for himself.

A

Al drones on about something he believes in. I'm trying to listen but I can't, I can't… All I can is to try and unfreeze my jaw. My throat hurts from screaming. I bet that if I will speak ever again, I'm going to be hoarse. Forever.

Strange, how powerless I suddenly am. Take away my arm and I'm useless. I'll die. So, so easily. It's like stomping on an ant. You never realise that someone can do that to you just as easily. I'm an ant who learnt Alchemy. I am the one that is hurt whether he wins or loses. I'm cursed.

But aren't all humans? Isn't everything? Why nothing makes sense? I need a solid point in the universe or I'll die of uncertainty.

Al.

"I realised after I was almost killed…" It doesn't sound as hoarse as I expected. "All I could do was scream. My head was blank. I thought that I could save someone."

Stop, Ed, stop now while you can. Al doesn't have to know… But I'm weak and the words spill by themselves.

"Our hands are full trying to regain our original bodies. To accomplish that…"

How far would I really go? I… don't want my hand if it means I'd have to hurt you. Or any other child for that matter. I don't want to kill anyone. But… if I have to… can I?

"I don't care what people call me. A dog of military or a devil." As if it didn't mean the same. How deep is the evil I'm sinking in? I know it from outside, but maybe it is much deeper from this point of view. I hate being in dark. And this place is very, very dark. I can't see. I just feel… I feel useless. I feel that I hurt you. I want to die…

But I can't. Not while I still have to give you your body, brother.

"But we aren't devils or gods…" I tried once, and I hurt you so bad, brother… so bad… I'm giving my tainted purposeless existence for yours. I hope it's enough. It's my only purpose now… but how am I supposed to do it? How am I supposed to know?

"We're just humans!"

A

Hagane.

He knows me better than I thought, but despite all his arrogance, I don't think this was meant to ridicule me. Steel. I'm half made of steel, and the half that is not is either to be in the future, or die and turn into ashes.

I could have been Haigara. I'm Hagane.

"I like that heavy name. I will carry it."

It's weight will help me stay close to the earth. I can't afford to get my head in clouds again – I can't afford to die, much as I would wish to.

A

"Who did you say was smaller than a bacteria and needed vitamines to fight against a single each one-"

Al sweatdropped and left the office.

It was about the highest time. He's going to chat with Hawkeye or Havoc or some other infatuated blonde, or find another abandoned kitten, or… oh, whatever. I'll deal with that later. Right now I have a report to deliver. And add some things I wouldn't like Alphonse to know.

I'm rather practised in these rants; Mustang loves to pick at someone and I can't do him bodily harm (I could, but I don't feel like facing court martial and he would do it, I have no doubt), so it _is_ a way to vent energy. It also serves to tell my brother that I'm alright. Healthy. Full of that energy that needs venting.

Most importantly, it makes him feel slightly ashamed for me and seek the nearest exit. There are moments when it's better not to be associated with me and I don't blame him. I'm using it.

Because right now I feel anything but full of energy.

As soon as Al's out the door, I'm sinking on the sofa and clapping my hands. A light touch of my fingertips to the floor, dilated pupils, awareness of all that is in the room from the rough tile, through my clothes, the cool air, furniture, the plant on the window-sill, Mustang's cologne and the bottle of wine in his lether bag, to the metallic doorknob.

Everything seen as atoms held together in molecules, macromolecules, cells, tissues… all in constant movement…

I blink and the door is locked, complete with bars in front of it. I don't like people disturbing me. I don't like people.

Mustang himself is an exception – after all, he's _always_ an exception. He's looking at me as though he anicipated another rant. I know he doesn't. He knows me too well, just as he knows the little show I put up for Alphonse.

He's tired today. I can see just how _odious_ the _poor chap_'s work is. I would pity him… but, wait, I hate him, right? So no, no pity today.

"You're more creative lately."

I scoff.

"The old are getting old. Doesn't hurt to try something new."

He raises an eyebrow and I count. One… two… three… He frowns, instead of the smirk I have been waiting for. Damn the guy. He still does manage to surprise me… but I give as well as I get-

"Was that supposed to be some dim-witted insinuation?"

No, that was blatant innuendo, you jerk. Oh, I hate this man's antics. Once in a while I can say something I mean, can't I? And it's normal to expect a normal answer, isn't it?

"I was reading a book on biochemistry if you must know. Thousands of ways how to slaughter people slowly. Transmute a vire… if you are good enough, that is."

"Are you?" he asks and is that… fear? I think. Am I good enough?

"Yes. After learning to transmute human body from pure elements it isn't as hard." Except that you have to make millions of these miniscule things and I don't have a lifetime to spend building acellular organisms.

Now he's afraid of me. Good. It serves him well to practise that. If a true jeopardy comes, he won't have forgotten. And, despite all my hatred, I wouldn't _truly_ hurt him.

"Edward-"

I raise my hand.

"Spare me. I destroyed a ship. You have to pay for it. I solved your little mystery. Equivalent Exchange."

"You, Hagane, are an insolent brat."

I cock my head to the side and do a Mustang – I raise my eyebrow and then smirk. From the expression on his face I guess he _really_ hates when I do this. The better for me.

"I'm fourteen, Colonel. What did you expect?"

"Just your standard, Hagane. You _always_ do solve the mystery, after all. And you always destroy something expensive."

I lay back and stare at the unused fan rather than at that smug-faced git. I would either punch him or do something really pitiful, and even though I'm exhausted, I don't want to give him the pleasure.

"How is Alphonse?"

How is Al? What kind of question is that- well, a comprehensible one I guess. But I had one of those briliant strokes and sent him to the police to make me a list of kindergartens, while I went straight to the orphanage and…

"Unaffected."

It seems that he wanted to say something but then changed his mind. He glances at the watch.

"Are you in a hurry?"

He's got a date. I't easy to tell – there is the cologne, the wine, the look at the watch… the hint of a frown I glimpsed when I and Al entered. He didn't expect us for at least two more days. Well, I'm sorry, Colonel. Still, you can send me to the barracks and ask questions tomorrow.

"Why didn't you kill him?"

Now, that's an easy one.


	4. Party

Thanks for your reviews. They make me happy… it's a sad sad world. I hope you'll enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.  
Brynn

Chapter 3: Party

"I brought him to you; that is a worse punishent than simply killing him."

Mustang takes it in stride; it might have worked for the first fifty times, but not anymore. It's alright with me; I don't insult him to hurt him. I insult him to make _him_ remember who I am, and to make _me_ feel better about it. It does work… a little.

"Yes, considering that he undertook an uncomfortable day-long train ride packed in your suitcase."

I suppressed the feral grin I felt was creeping on my face. Peripherally I noticed the man standing up and moving, but I don't pay him any attention right now. I contemplate Gutierrez. I wanted Gutierrez to suffer. To suffer badly. I want him to be eaten by his own conscience. It's pity there is no God, because I would wish the Hell upon people like Gutierrez.

If there is something that I do _hate_ – this time I mean _really_ hate, in the original meaning of that word – it is people who deilberately hurt children. I can't stand them. I could kill them, but I have ascertained on numerous occasions that I cannot kill. I simply am not capable of that.

I value life too much. It's shadow is worth one and half a body.

"You said they only took some organs to transplate to other children. That it's illegal," I'm saying quietly. There is a low thud as Mustang shuts the window and then a rustle as he closes the curtains. The room goes dark. The acting can be ceded. For a little, little while.

"It is," the Colonel says and I feel my eyes well as, unbidden, the images of what I saw come back to my mind. These are the harsher things down the path that I chose.

"Well, there was no stealing organs."

Mustang's face fell, I could tell just by the complete lack of sound. The time stilled; the room is suddenly a bubble out of it, with the two of us imprisoned in an everlasting moment. I don't see anything but a grey blur. He doesn't breath. How is it possible? How can a human stop breathing for a while just like that?

I do breath. It comes out as a quiet ragged sound, disturbing the silence, and I feel a bare – gloveless – hand on my jaw. I expect it to jerk, but it doesn't. It rather geently forces me to look into Mustang's face, and the man isn't smirking or raising eyebrows or spitting insults that don't cut. He's earnest and… maybe a little worried. I like his eyes like this. Earnest and deep and dark and pained.

"They arranged a supposed illness and death, took the child into hospital, had a doctor fill all the papers and _dismantled_ it."

He gulps and the hand on my jaw quivers slightly; I know he's fighting his stomach right now. I know he will win, but that's not the point. The point is that someone used an alive innocent human being as a jigsaw.

"Edward-"

"Save it. I don't need patronising. I need a shower."

But the truth is that I don't want to go back to our living quarters. The shower is there, waiting for me, sure, but so is Al and the duty to act cheerful after a well done routine inspection. I want to stay in my bubble. Even if it is with Mustang.

He retrieves his hand and rubs his temples. I haven't seen him doing this before – he must be also tired to react this badly. Or he's going to have a migraine.

"You are on duty tonight, Hagane," he says feigning indifference. I stopped myself just as I was about to open my mouth to protest. I'm not going to argue. This it… the only thing he can do for me and he _is_ doing it for me. I don't want to be grateful, but I am. Al will understand, and if I insert a few comments about Mustang's remarks to my height, he won't worry.

"Do not waste that time – I want you to do some resear-"

"Paperwork," I cut in. I don't want to go to the library. I can write the rest of my report here just as well. And Mustang is rushing off on a date anyway.

As if to confirm that, he looks at the watch again and shrugs.

"How many regulations did you break during the mission, Hagane?"

Biting absently into my left thumb, I count.

"At least thirteen different, at forty-seven ocassions." No point pretending I didn't. He knows anyway, with Hughes constantly stepping on our heels. I was reduced to humouring him with the precise count instead. It seems to be a pet-project of his.

"One more won't hurt all that much, then. And you can't use it as black-mail." Well, his pet-project does have useful (for him) side-effects. But you don't get to see _the_ Colonel Roy Mustang encouraging breaking rules often.

"Do you drink wine?"

A

Alphonse is planning a fucking party.

I don't want a party. I like when Winry comes for a while, but I don't like being dragged on endless shopping trips and having to spend all our money on little (and not so little) presents for her. I don't like having to constantly be Edo-kun when I feel like Hagane.

I asked to be assigned on a mission, but Alphonse had gone to Mustang as first and already made sure that I would have a free weekend to 'properly celebrate'… since when does Alphonse use words like 'properly'? Ah… since always.

He's beaming at me and I have become a mirror, beaming at him.

"Sure, Al. I'd love to."

Since when do I say 'I'd love to'? But Al doesn't notice. He's already buying party-hats in his head. His eyes are shining and I don't know why, I'm smiling. He's happy.

"So, what do you want me to prepare?"

"Nothing! It's your party, brother! We will take care of everything!"

Who is 'we'?

A

I should have known, Colonel bloody Mustang, the second you said I'm on vacation.

But I never took you for a party person. For whatever reason you are here (like that a certain Maes Hughes forced you), I absolutely refuse to be fooled by your 'couldn't miss my subordinate's birthday' sorry excuse. You missed my last two birthdays and you couldn't be bothered.

But… Colonel Mustang has brought a bottle, and I have a very good idea what's in it. I'm sort of looking forward to when I find a while on my own, get lost, and… bluntly, get drunk. The world is like… million times nicer when you are drunk. Sometimes. Or million times uglier. I don't do this often – I've been drunk three times in my life, and it is two to one for the first option. I like it and it scares me.

"Brother-"

I'm looking up into a pair of shining eyes. I smile. Al is handing me a knife and I'm supposed to go and slice the cake.

I do it. I put a triangular piece on each nice white plate. They are Hughes'. This is their place. And it's got a familial atmosphere that I can't seem to fit in. All three of them get a piece, even Elysia-chan, who is still too little, or she would have gotten a cake on her own. She got a pile of presents, though.

The guests pass by and I barely notice the faces. Gracia and Elysia, Maes, Riza, Winry, Jean, someone unknown (result of having a joint party with Elysia-chan), Cain, another unknown… Al's standing next to me all the time, handing me empty plates. He won't eat. My fault.

It takes a while and when I'm finally holding the last two pieces in my hands, Maes has finished eating and does the usual – as soon as his mouth is empty he talks about Elysia. Having her here and her being the birthday girl causes her to become the centre of everybody's attention virtually anon. I'm glad. It means they'll leave _me_ alone. Relatively alone.

"You don't like cake, Colonel?"

I flip down in the corner, obscured from the rests of the guests by an armchair occupied by Mustang, _his_ knees, and a rododendron. It's just because I'm so small… it happens rarely, but I do enjoy being small sometimes.

"On the contrary," he says and smiles at someone I can't see. It goes two-ways, this hiding. Sheesh… I'm _hiding_.

"Let me guess; you have to watch your line."

He raises an eyebrow.

"As opposed to you, who has two helpings just for yourself."

Or one for me and one for you, if you got your head out of your arse and admitted you want it. Maybe I feel beneficial, since it's _my_ birthday, too, because I drop the second plate into Mustang's lap. He gives me a scowl, but he doesn't mean it. Must be the atmosphere.

It's choking me. I'll have to escape soon.

"The cake is delicious, Gracia," Mustang says and I duck a bit lower. She doesn't notice me, laughs, says a few phrases and moves to the next stop on the circular tour of her living room.

The air is filled with sounds and smells and the people are so happy that it clenches my heart. The pressure gets worse.

I stand up, offering to take Mustang's empty plate. He gives it to me. At least he's not unnaturally cheerful. I plast a smile on my face and go to the kitchen, dump the two plates on the counter, and sneak – unnoticed – to the door.

"I'm going for a walk!" I call to everyone, but only Al seems to have noticed. He starts saying something, but I'm already outside.

The day is dreary, bleak, rainy and whatever other words there are to describe weather unfit for people to walk into. I don't give a damn. The tiny drops falling on my face are vexatious, but I don't care. I walk on… I'm already near the corner when I hear a door slamming and turn back.

Screw unnoticed. I knew he watches everything. I knew he listens. I knew he knows me.

What made me think that… oh, damn.

I walk on, rather quickly. It's a question of determination now. I'm not too determined to escape, if he's more determined to catch me, he will. I don't mind. He can talk to me. I can talk to him… well, as long as nobody's watching.

I have walked into some kind of park when he falls into stride next to me. I don't bother to smirk. He knows I don't feel like it ayway. I won't acknowledge him.

He catches my elbow and that's it.

"Ne, Colonel Bastard, what made _you_ chase the escaped guest?"

He does not smirk. Why? Why does he not mock me? He doesn't answer, but his eyes stray to the leather bag he sometimes carries with him.

"Fine. Don't say."

I turn away and set out. Once again it's a matter of determination. It's not a game, so nobody wins and nobody loses, but it's his hand that catches my elbow again, in the middle of a small stone bridge. It might have been kind of a romantic site, but there are crows gathered around. I don't like them. They remind me of battlefields. And they like eyes. I need my eyes yet.

"What made the guest escape in the first place?"

"I don't want to play," I say, perfectly aware how uncharacteristical the statement is.

"You're depressed, Hagane. Worse than usually."

I stubbornly shake my head and try to break free, but damn Mustang is strong. He does not look it, but he is.

"Do you wish for another night on duty?"

I shake my head again. He leers, but not the usual way, there is something cruel in his eyes; he's going to be cruel to me – to a child. Strange. When it's me, I don't mind. I don't care.

"You're assigned to be my escort for the next twelve hours. Too bad – I'm tired and don't want to return to the party…"

He goes on and expects me to follow. I don't.

On the next juncture he stops and turns around.

"Don't be an ass, Hagane."

I notice how uncharacteristical that is for him. He… He's giving me a present. All I can do is accept. But I won't run.

I walk, following him through the City like an undersized shadow.


	5. Ai

Chapter 4: Ai

"What's this place?"

It's awfully… something. I can't describe it. It's a house, yeah, but it's small. Tiny. It's white and in a better weather would really look beautiful, contrasting with the green of the trees and bushes around. But the weather is bleak and dreary and Mustang walks up to the front door and I don't have to ask anymore.

Just as well, because he doesn't answer. He recovers keys from his pocket, unlocks, opens the door, steps in ad kicks off his boots. I follow, though he didn't invite me. There is a trail of mud where he walked and it leads across the hall to a room I suspect to be the kitchen.

"Hello," says a deep voice softly and my jaw falls as I realise this was Mustang speaking. The same Mustang I followed here. It was so… gentle. I don't understand.

I shed my boots and cloak on a pitiful heap next to a stool and follow the muddy trail. Mustang is crouched in front of the fridge and pours white liquid into a bowl. Then he stands up and from behind him a cat walks out. It's nothing special – some kind of street farrago, but it looks intelligent. If it survives life with this jerk it must be.

The presence of the cat seems to have melted something hard in Mustang – or maybe it was the privacy of his home. I don't exactly feel like an intruder, but I'm not far from it. He's relaxed, more relaxed than I've ever seen him in the office. He looks at me and pushes wet locks of black hair out of his eyes.

I like them like that. Dark, deep, thoughtful, pained… today they are compassionate, too. I don't want his compassion, but he gives it freely and he's the only one who does. Who would have known. One day, I will be at Mustang's house, a wet hungry escapee from my own birthday party. I… am glad I'm here. I don't want to go back.

"Cheese?"

I suppress the urge to laugh and sit on the closest chair.

"Yeah. And a lot of spaghetti under it."

He _does_ laugh, and once again it's the calm gentle voice. As though nothing could happen to him while he's here. As though he was safe. Maybe he forced himself to believe it to avoid getting insane. Maybe… I wonder how many people were allowed here. I doubt too many.

"I don't have spaghetti," he's saying quietly, "You can have noodles."

"Whatever."

I watch his hands while he prepares the food. It takes long, and the only noises are the bubbling water, clanking dishes and my unruly stomach.

"What's the time?" he asks. I look around. There's a clock on the wall.

"Five thirty."

That means we've been walking for about two hours. I don't mind. At least I'll be tired enough to sleep today.

"Too early." I don't ask for what. I don't care. I want to eat and to sleep. And to forget, but I don't seem to be able to forget. So there are those other two things. I don't want to talk.

Maybe just a little.

My hand is going to get rusty.

"Do you have a towel?"

"Keep an eye on the stove."

He leaves. He comes back a while later; nothing changed. He passes me a square white cloth and turns away to tend to the food. The cat leaps on the table next to my elbow and watches me. I look at it. It looks back. We scrutinise each other apprehensively.

It meows. I feel one corner of my mouth quirking up.

Mustang has been watching us and, strangely, he's somehow pensive. He and pensive doesn't go together but, well, who really knows him? Nobody. Just as nobody knows me… Well, he does know me a little, but not really, completely, inside-out. I'm sometimes pensive, too. I like his cat.

"Make room, Ai."

"Ai?" I ask startled. Mustan shrugs.

"Couldn't think of a better name." I laugh to cover my relief. He really frightened me. But… nevermind.

I stand up and go back to the hall, slide the band out of my hair, and suffer through the painful process of unbraiding it while it's wet. I lose a few and then make mess of the rest under the pretense of drying it. I did try to dry it. It just… was stubborn. It is like that. It wants to dry by itself.

"Don't let it get cold."

Sheesh, he can't even yell now. But he's so calm. I feel calm now, as well. There is no intruding family here. There is all the privacy a man needs… or a boy… but it's not mine. Pity.

I go back and eat. It's good. But I'm not going to tell him.

A

He actually got me a _proper_ birthday present.

I'm staring at it right now, and it's perfect. He knows that I don't care about the taste, but about the effect, so it's the cheapest sort, but I absolutely like it. I have drunk three and half a gill. Less makes me only a bit tipsy, more makes me doze off. Now I'm the most comfortable kind of woozy and the world around me is dark and calm and quiet. He sits in the armchair, leaving the entire sofa for me, but I'm on the floor and reading the etiquette again and again.

It feels perfect. I want to stay here forever. I want nothing to move, nothing to change. I want the memories of the truth obliterated. I want the truth obliterated. I want people to be calm and quiet in their hearts, and happy when they watch their children play…

"Do you know that there's a country where they have legions of ten-year-olds?"

The Colonel looks up and pierces me with his eyes. I'm looking back at him, undeterred. He's struck.

"I didn't."

I nod.

"There is. And there is a country where these… these child-soldiers take prisoners. When they find a pregnant woman, they make a bet – is it a boy, or is it a girl? And then they look."

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Ai stares at me from her position on the table. She reminds me of me right now for the wine makes my movements cat-like; I'm sprawled with the human leg under my butt and the metallic one stretched out, supported on straight arms, and gazing at the etiquette from under a curtain of messy gold hair that's falling all around my head.

If I tried, I could remember where I've left the band – I'm not as drunk as to start forgetting – but I don't want to. I like it like this. I like me like I am. I like… The taste on my tongue – it's bittersweet and I think of life as such. I've had my deal of both bitter and sweet, now I'm waiting to experience the perfect blend. An unwanted idea pops in my head and it's just… obscene. But my inebrated brain holds on it, and it seems good. The right kind of bittersweet. I know that now it took root, and those roots are so deep that I won't be able to persuade myself otherwise.

I sit up and glance at Ai again. That damn animal knows what I'm thinking… and it fucking _approves_.

I never thought this before and I blame it on the alcohol, but I like Roy Mustang. He's tough, he's not transparent, he doesn't blame me or underestimate me or overprotect me… he helps me even if I don't admit it and _even_ if I don't want it. He's calm and quiet. I can talk to him.

He's not afraid of me. He _never_ calls me Edo-kun.

I know I'm being ridiculous, I know that I actually pseudo-hate the man, but he bought me a bottle of wine and gave it to me as a birthday present and let me spend an evening in his home and… all right, this one time I'll be fair to Roy Mustang. He made this one of the happiest days in last three years.

I can't exactly hate a person like that, can I?

"It's nothing, Roy. Don't worry about it. You can't change it anyway."

He frowns, maybe because he doesn't like the address I've used…

"I can."

He believes it. He fucking believes he can change the world. And – for all that's pure – I want to believe that he can do it. I would die hundred times over if barbarities like that stopped. There are many, many more I know about yet won't tell him; they are replaying in my mind on dreamless nights.

I slowly move forwards, one limb at time. It's harder to do when you have to shift your weight irregularly due to heavy chunks of metal, but I've learnt to walk upright and this is a tad easier. It makes the strangest sound.

Pad, pad, thud, thud-thud, pad, pad, thud, thud-thud, pad.

I'm next to him and he finally opens those pain-filled eyes and makes a mirror for me. I'm smiling. Yet… he is not. But I see how I'm smiling because I'm reflecting in his eyes. I put my head on his knee in the decidedly cat-like manner and Ai purrs, maybe to indicate that she isn't jealous. What is there to envy me? I've got… a life of lies, a brother to take care of, a friend who doesn't know me, and an obligation to pull the trigger when a man in blue uniform says 'fire'.

I'm… a _cat_ of military. Now, I mean. When the sun goes up, I'll again be a dog… At least, so I suppose. I was never good with metaphors.

"Edward…"

"Stop. I don't need patronising."

The next question proves that I, too, can predict _him_ sometimes.

"What is it you think you need?"

A drill through my skull to get the images out.You would understand. But just as I don't want you to be afraid of me, I don't want you to be afraid for me. You're a jerk and a damn show-off and overal stuck-up git but deep there is a heart as good as Maes's.

I think of nuzzling the knee, but three gills isn't enough to reduce me to a puddle of jello. I kneel up and then stand up. I wouldn't be able to go over a beam, but I am steady.

"Just the basic things, the same as everyone – air, water, food, warmth. And a few books to not die of boredom. But that's beside the point. The point is…

…why did you bring me here, Roy Mustang?"

He's looking at me as if he's never seen me before. Maybe he's never seen me like this. My hair is loose, I'm barefoot and I wear only my pants and tank-top – the rest of my clotches formed a second pitiful heap somewhere on the way upstairs. Because yes, Roy Mustang actually has a sitting room upstairs, as he transformed the living room in the basement into a library. It's a beautiful library.

"No cliché phrase, please," I say and suppress a giggle. I don't want to hear that I _needed_ it.

"As a birthday present."

I've seen all about people and I don't know the first thing. How do you go about this? In the end I know I need another gill.

I was in the process of turning back when he caught my wrist. I look back and he lets go, realising that whatever he wanted to add would be in vain.

I don't give a damn. I lean over and kiss him. It's empty, no promise, no offer, no emotion, not even thanks for the hospitality.

And I finally turn away and go for the rest of the wine left in the bottle.

A

A/N: Regrettably, the atrocities described in this chapter really do happen in some countries. I'm sorry to bother you with this, I just feel the need to say that I feel exactly the same as Edward here – I can't understand how anyone could aim a weapon at a child any better than how anyone could let a child fight their war. I fail to comprehend why there are children that _don't know_ that killing a pregnant woman to see the sex of the baby is wrong – because they _don't know_. Those kids think it's perfectly normal. Makes me wonder what sort of world we're living in.


	6. Consolation

Chapter 5: Consolation

He doesn't know what to make out of it. He's got enough blackmail on me to last until his grandchildren are dead, so I don't care. I can do what I want to. I wanted to kiss him. So I did.

Trouble is… I'm still a four- fifteen-year-old kid who supposedly tries to seduce a superior. On the other hand… such liason is so improbable, that _nobody_ would suspect it, even if something did happen. Which it didn't.

I'm going to drink this and go to sleep on the couch, perhaps with Ai-chan for company.

A

He's good at pretending, Mustang is. But I'm good, too. He doesn't acknowledge what happened on my birthday and neither do I. I don't need the people in the office to know that I've been to Mustang's house.

Al wasn't questioning me about it, but he tried to find out from the Colonel. To no avail, unsurprisingly. Things are back to normal. And I am back to duty.

I got off easily this time, a few scorched contacts so that my fingers don't move properly. I'm always writing the report with left hand anyway. It's a pain, especially when sitting on the train and making a dash each time there is a jolt. Means about each letter. I so hate reports. I hate Mustang.

"Brother, I want to visit Winry and Auntie Pinako-"

I look up. I don't want to go to Risenbool more often than is absolutely necessary, but I wouldn't stop Al from going. I'm not worried about him; he can take a care of himself.

"Al… how about you went to visit and take Winry to Central when you come back, so she can look at my hand?"

"You don't want to go, brother?" Al asks, concerned. I can't exactly tell him.

"I don't have so much vacation left, Al. As long as you tell hi to Auntie Pinako, I'll be alright. And Colonel Bastard can be happy, too." Which is a lie. I don't have a clue about whether Mustang wants me on a short leash to keep an eye on me, or whether he'd rather have me out of sight. I don't know if he doesn't regret that he ever helped me become a National Alchemist.

A

"Edo-kun! Where's Alphonse-kun?"

The routine – halt, conjure a smirk or a frown (I'm feeling bad right now, so it is a smirk), turn around.

"He's gone to visit Winry."

"Oh… you're going to see the Colonel?"

I wave the papers in my left hand.

"Got to submit the latest report."

Riza released me, having spotted something unbecoming – probably the smoke Jean was trying to hide from her. I count as I walk across the room – they are all there. And the door to the office is open. That means Mustang is alone and fighting paperwork. He'll be grateful for distraction… hopefully.

"Hey, Colonel Bastard!"

"Hey, brat."

Nobody pays any attention. The better for me. I shut the door, clap awkwardly – when you have one immobile and one full fist, it's a harder task than you'd think – and 'lock'.

"Evening, Colonel. Enjoying paperwork?"

The answer is a growl, which means that he's got a headache that not even coffee can kill. I thrust the report on the 'in' pile and round the mountain of paper to get into his line of sight. At least he won't have stupid remarks about not seeing me over it.

"What do you want, Hagane?"

Weren't we through these before? I can sooner have the sky at my feet than what I want. Beside that, I would also appreciate the Philosopher's Stone, and Al having his body. That's about it.

"Goodbye, Colonel."

I would have rescued him, but not if he's being a prat to me. I'm also tired. I'm cold. I'm stinking and sticky and wearing dirty clothes. I don't care for superiors trying to bite my head off.

"Stay where you are. How much?"

I halt, but don't bother to turn around. Twenty seconds isn't worth the effort.

"Fifteen thousand, I suppose. Could be more."

"How many?" he asks and I hear him shuffling.

"Three."

"Only?" He sounds surprised. It might be my record. But then, this was the first real routine mission I got to do. A handful of smugglers and a contraband. Catch them, bring the chest. Easy.

Except that no one told me what does it feel like when a seven feet tall man aimes a harpune at me from a few steps. But I can do with that. I just didn't like the way the tip glinted. It's all. Sort of like some people are afraid of shots. I'm afraid of harpunes. And what?

"Am I dismissed?" I say, keeping the hopefullness from my voice.

"No. I have an errand for you to run."

I'm torn between sighing, crying and ripping his throat out, but I turn around calmly, accept the paper he's handing to me, and leave, melting the bars with another pseudo-clap.

A

The bastard gave me his shopping list. I held myself during all the time I was in the shop, but walking up the first lane I broke into a hysterical laughter. Yeah, I know I'm not sane. Never troubled me before. I just have to make sure the people around me won't know.

They don't. I've taken the shortest route to Mustang's house, one that leads through a maze of narrow unlit alleys. I had to punch one bloke who came at me with a knife to get him out of my way, but I got to my destination fast and unnoticed by any military personnel.

I have to give him one thing; he's subtle. Or at least he can be subtle when he wants to. Giving me his shopping list… And with _some_ things to buy that might have or might not have been a message for me. I decided I wanted them to be one. That's the reason why I had the audacity to walk straight up and open the door for myself with just a little Alchemy – I am _not_ subtle, and I am proud of it.

The lock clicked, and Ai-chan meowed from the kitchen. I went there to see her at first… and to unload the bag on the table. The damn cat licked the tips of my fingers when I tried to pet her. I guess that means that she likes me.

"Hello, pretty. Where's the jerk?"

A rumble in the piping told me approximately where, and I sighed, closed my eyes, and sat down on the chair. I'm too tired to try and fix anything to eat for myself; besides, I have eaten recently. Not that I ever refuse food, but right now… I do.

"You don't know what this is about either, do you?" I ask of the cat. Strange, pets are rather easy to talk to. Maybe one day, when this madness will have ended, I will have my own cozy quiet calm house and my own cat I could talk to. And Al's children will come on weekends to see Uncle Edo… urgh. That's so… ear-splitting.

"Hagane."

I look up and see but a silhouette. The house is dark and I haven't bothered to light up – obviously, Mustang hasn't either. He should have. I should do it now. I don't want to. So I don't.

"Hungry?"

"No."

He doesn't believe me, but he doesn't argue. I watch as he fixes a loaf of bread with marmelade for himself – I never took him for a marmelade man. Every time I come here I learn something new.

"You bought everything?"

I nod. I don't know if he could see me, but he doesn't ask again, so he probably did.

"Take the bottle from the cupboard and wait for me upstairs. I'll be there shortly."

I don't know what's gotten in me that I obey him. I just… I guess I want the wine. It's been long since my birthday. I'd like to repeat that. Probably.

I've been sitting on the sofa for a good five minutes before the stairs creaked. I didn't look in that direction, I was just staring at the bottle until he took it from my sight and opened it. Just like that. He makes things seem so easy.

"Do you know the answer yet?"

What kind of question is that? I need to be much more drunk to be able to comprehend the language he's trying to speak. And I'll never be fluent at it, but, damn it, I'm going to try.

"Give me a glass. A big one."

He laughs quietly and I fight not to revel in the sound. It's too nice, too soothing. I don't feel strong enough to fight, not after I've just spent a week fighting almost constantly.

"You don't have a harpune hidden anywhere, do you?"

He smirks, but the smirk fades as he realises I was being serious. He drops on his knee in front of me, standing the bottle on the table, and forces me to look down at him.

"Are you hurt, Edward?"

I shake my head, but he doesn't believe me.

"You should have told me; if I knew I wouldn't have made you run across the City-"

"Shut up, Roy. I'm not hurt."

He doesn't acknowledge the address. I understand a bit of his language even relatively sober: 'I don't mind'.

His eyes move from my body to my face and my lips curve upwards. Yes, he sees. I'm hurt inside, precisely the same way I had been hurt when I faced Barry the Chopper. But this time it was entirely my fault, and this time it was an opponent I should have been able to beat on my own.

"We are just humans…" I repeat to Roy what I said to Al back then. He, unlike Al, understands the limitations. Al wasn't precisely a human back there. His limitations are different. Roy _is_…

I smile inwardly. I know now what I was missing weeks ago. It's easy. It's right there – I just have to reach out. So I do.

The tips of my fingers are touching Roy's face. It's coarse, unshaven since the morning. He blinks as the realisation hits him. He hasn't expected this. He doesn't know me as well as he thinks he does. He saw the hurt, perhaps, through all my layers of disguise, and he wanted to console me.

It's… one of the nicest things anyone ever did for me.

He has all the choices now. It's up to him. Kick me out, tell me to stop and let me sleep over on the couch…

I lean forwards and kiss him. It's a question and a persuasion at the same time. He does nothing. He doesn't move at all, but he can't exactly allow me, can he? I'm his subordinate. Moreover a child. I might quite well be the bane of his existence.

"Roy…" I breath hardly audibly, "Do you regret helping me become a National Alchemist?"

He's staring in my eyes and then, all of sudden, he jerks me forwards. It hurts a bit, and he's hard to smash into, but I'm not fragile. He's holding me in his arms like no one ever has before. I don't want to be smelling him, but can't help it unless I want to suffocate. He smells of himself.

"Sometimes. When you are being far too expensive."

Funny. I haven't been drinking and still I've just heard: 'No, I don't. Never'. It must be my imagination. It has to.

I just realised that I'm in a really bad position – in a position of no control. I don't like it. I'm spreading my legs to gain two steady points touching the floor, but inadvertantly that causes me to _straddle_ Roy. He tenses and the grip on me weakens; I manage to straighten, but I'm not tall enough to be looking in his eyes. Pity. I wonder if he's in pain now. Strangely, I don't want him to be.

"Aren't you going to tell me another horror-story?" he asks. I stop in the middle of motion.

"Do you… want me to? I could. As many _horror-stories_ as you want. They're all here," I say, pointing at my head and looking up at him. He sighes, and that's the closest thing to weakness I've ever seen with the Flame Alchemist.

"I'm sorry, Edward. I'm sorry I didn't catch the earlier train. That I wasn't there an hour sooner. That I didn't stop you. That you had-"

"Stop. I-" I sigh, too. "Is that why you've been helping me? Us? Because you felt guilty?"

He doesn't answer and I hear: 'yes, at first it was that; and then so many other things'. And now the original motivation doesn't matter and it's all forgotten, all apart from the guilt that is eating on us day by day, every time we look at Alphonse and realise that the armour is in fact empty.

"What-"

"_Stop_. Neither of us… nevermind. Say what you want to, Roy Mustang. I am an old and tired person, one more tale won't bring me significantly further."

He laughes and I resign. Feels good just sitting on his lap and being embraced.


	7. Balance

Thanks everyone for your beautiful reviews! It's my birthday tomorrow, so in the spirit, I'm giving you another chapter:-)). Only one to go beside this, my friends. Indulge me.  
Brynn

Chapter 6: Balance

I don't know him at all – I realise that yet again when he kisses me and the hand that has rested on my shoulder-blade moves down to my waist, brushes my hipbone and traces my thigh all the way to the knee. My breath catches.

I always thought that this would require a resignation of some sort, at least on one side. It doesn't, apparently. A man with decades of experience meets a boy with the tale of evolution cramped in his head. What could possibly go right?

I'm laughing into his mouth, but he has to be looking down at a sharp angle and it's going to kill his neck. Sometimes I hate my lack of height. But I don't think he would escape if I let go of him for just the shortest while… doesn't mean that I'm not afraid he would as I'm standing up, offering a hand to him. He ignores it, which is a rather good idea, because, despite the lack of alcohol, I don't have the best balance right now.

Damn it, he's tall. He's practically towering over me, and for a while of that irrational – or too rational – fear we just face each other, with a scary foot-wide space between us. I'm going to reach out for him and screw the consequences-

He's faster. He has pushed me backwards and with my balance in limbus I've fallen right on the sofa. I'm glad Ai-chan wasn't there – I'm glad she isn't in the room. Now he has me more or less at his mercy and knowing that I can't do anything makes adrenaline rush in my veins. But he's not leaving; he's leaning down over me and kissing me again, and I'm very deliberately taking his shirt off. He lets me. My hands tremble and I'm losing the line of my thoughts. I'm losing clarity.

I fucking love this feeling.

It's better than being drunk, better than I've imagined it could be. But now I don't want the time to stop. I'm unbuttoning my superior's pants. His hands have crossed all the borders of any definition of decency and now I want him to get them out from between my legs and use them to get off _my_ cothes, but I sure as Hell won't be telling him. I'm going to do it myself if I have to.

I have to.

Roy is helpful enough to dispose of his half-stripped pants, and while he does that he can neither keep his hands in my groin nor hover over me, so I use the time to get off my own pants. The tank-top will have to wait – if at all it…

Roy's back and bolder than before. I hear unspoken that he has come to terms with the situation, embraced it mentally, and he will deal with it. Good. Because I don't think I could stop now. He pushes the top up and I feel his tongue on my chest… nearing a nipple. Nearing it _slowly_.

I can be a tease, too. But I don't feel like being one now. I'm going to let him have the upper hand for once in our lives. He… I'm losing coherency…

Losing the control over my hands… He's got me complying to anything… so easily… And there's a feather light kiss on the rib just next to the base of my automail… Pressure of his stomach against my erection… a full, deep, overwhelming kiss, with his tongue guiding mine rather than fighting; I've already lost…

And still, there's a small victory on my side. He wants to go all the way… I want him to go all the way… but he hadn't expected my… offer… I haven't quite either… More like just considering the option, still… Those're my trousers I reach in for the bottle and press it into his palm.

He pauses in surprise, and then chuckles. It's a low, rumbling sound from deep in his throat and it makes me arch into him… He didn't foresee what that would do to him – one of his arms gave out and I feel his weight on my chest… he's so, so dangerously close, filling all my perception…

Fine… I want to fill _his_ perception… duh, I guess I already do. He's out of it. I mean totally. This is not Colonel Mustang, not the Flame Alchemist I swore to remember, this is Roy and right now he's _mine_. The lengths I go to.

He's propped up against his arm again and I can only suspect what he's doing because I can't seem to see past his face and shoulders. Turns out I was right when I feel his finger in my arse, and for some damn reason I just like it there, only… I guess I miss his warmth but can't be sure…

He can make even this _sensual_… must be some kind of talent… he's got fingers in my guts and I think it's _sensual_… He's moving them and I have to bite on my tongue to not plead with him, but in spite of everything I'm still me… I don't plead. Then he pulls the fingers out and-

Oh.

This is stran- don't think I've- like this- good-

Perfect.

I'm aware of breathing in. Roy's fallen, he's lying next to me with his collar-bone pressed against my shoulder and I want to cry. For a moment he had reduced my reality to searing white pleasure; a place with no truth and no consequences to it and that was the best I've ever felt in my life. I want to do it again. I want to go there and maybe die there… not _die_ until Al has his body, though.

It all depends. All depends on him, on me, on Al, on fucking reality and fucking truth. I rarely get what I want. Roy's breathing is evening, but he isn't falling sleep.

Eventually he sits up, strokes the side of my face and reaches for the bottle. But he _was_ sober. And I'll take that tidbit of information with myself to any of our future encounters.

He's drunk half of his glass when I finally force myself to sit up as well. I'm sore, from the train-ride rather than anything since then. That's what I want to believe anyway. He passes me the second glass. I take it, grateful. For everything. From the unsuccessful attempt to stop Al and me, through the help in becoming a National Alchemist, guidance during the past three years, being there for me when nobody else saw who I am inside and buying me alcohol, to this night. Roy Mustang must be the most wretched guardian angel ever.

I hate him and it doesn't matter because.

"What are you so happy about?" I growl when he starts chuckling under his breath. Roy and afterglow together is… disconcerting.

"You admitted it, Edward. You are old. Ancient."

Figured – that was it what made him cave in. I should have realised that he wouldn't take a normal fifteen-year-old to bed. To be honest, I didn't think he would take _any_ male to bed, but you learn something new every day and Roy isn't exactly a person you can know even if you're working with him for years.

I wave my hand.

"Like you didn't know it before."

"I didn't know it. I _suspected_ it."

Sheesh, another of my secrets is out to this jerk. I won't be able to sleep until somebody kills him…

But if somebody does… I will never be able to sleep again. I will never forgive myself, much the same way I'll never forgive myself what I did to Al.

"Will we repeat this sometimes?"

He shrugs.

"At least once."

"Why?"

"Because your brother is returning, and then you're leaving on a mission and there is always the chance that you won't come back."

Blimey. I never realised he cared about me _so_ much. His voice is… plain sad. He… he fears losing me. It's just… crazy. We are crazy.

"Where to?"

"Lior."

I've heard about that. Lots of sand. I don't like sand.

"Why?"

"You're so curious, Hagane." Helps me stay alive. "Philosopher's Stone."

I nod and absently sip the wine. Am I not ridiculous? Sitting in my superior's _upstairs_ lounge, drinking wine I cannot even legally buy, almost naked (only wearing a tank-top) after I slept with said superior (while I'm still under the age of consent) and thinking about creating one of the greatest taboos of Alchemy to undo another I did. Yup, my life is screwed.

"And, Edward, while you're at it, think of what will you do for the assessment. You won't have much time after you _do come back_."

He's smirking at me. Damn him.

I'm sane barely enough to realise that I'm doing something flipping crazy again, but not nearly enough to stop myself from putting my hand on the back of his neck, pulling him down to me and plunging my tongue into his mouth. He's chuckling. _Damn him_.

Roy Mustang, I'm officially finally going to find a way to wipe that smirk of your face. It's years too late, anyway.

A

"Edo… you idiot!"

That's Winry all right. I knew she was going to say that instead of 'hi Ed, how are you?' just as well as I know that she has a wrench in her hand aimed at my head. I duck. The spinning metal object passes above me and gets stuck in Mustang's door in the height of my waist. I gulp.

"Winry, that's not ni-"

"You destroyed it _again_?" she cries and Al is watching her uneasily as she grabs a suitcase from his hand and slamms it on Cain's desk. There is a crack of strained wood, but somehow the furniture remains standing.

The door behind me opens; I don't really hear or see it, not even a shadow, it's more of a sensation. The Colonel's eyes assess the situation (I know this; I don't have to look) and he raises an eyebrow.

"Alphonse. Has Edward told you of his next mission?" Damn it, I don't want to be left alone with Winry. She's going to maim me. Unintentionally, of course, but she doesn't know her own strength… Why did they have to catch me here? Why does Riza have to be out right now? Where is everyone anyway – oh yes, lunch. I'm going to die because everyone is stuffing their face…

"No, sir. Winry and I have just arrived."

"There's a mention of the Stone in-" Mustang pauses and looks at Winry, who's currently occupied by forcing me to sit in Jean's chair and put my hand on the desk.

Our eyes meet and, by the fleeting look on his face he had nticed how my skin's just a tone paler than usually and how my good hand trembles. I'm scared. I really am. I have a lot of physical pain in my life, but being unable to fight back – I could never hurt Winry – makes me feel totally helpless. Winry is my own personal Barry.

"Al, the objective is in the envelope on my bed. You go and read it while Winry fixes my hand, so we don't lose time." I'm grinning at him, and he doesn't notice that my voice is too carefully guarded.

"Broth-"

"Don't worry Al. I'll be alright."

He nods.

"Take care, brother. Winry, don't be too hard on him."

The girl humms something as I watch Alphonse leave; he's a quick reader and makes long strides, but even so Winry should be done until he comes back. It's only a few scorched contacts anyway…

She looks up from my fingers, reaches over for another wrench and scowles at me. I brace myself.

"Ed! You impossible idiot!"

The tool hits my head. I blink and to temporarily escape look up.

Winry strikes again, hitting the very same place. Roy flinches.

She doesn't know how this hurts, and Al doesn't know either. I'm the only one who does. I smile. It hurts like living Hell.

Mustang's eyes widen ever-so-slightly when Winry hits the same spot for the third time. He doesn't understand. Funny… If anyone could, it would be him. And she still hasn't noticed him, despite his short conversation with Alphonse. Ever since she stepped in the room she was in a full business-mode, skipping everything that didn't involve automail.

Roy raises an eyebrow, but I slightly shake my head and close my eyes. She's going to-

Oh. That hurts. _Really_ hurts, not like a wrench impacting into my head.

A

It's over. My hand is as good as new, I thanked Winry, let her hug me, promised to come and visit her and Auntie Pinako and watched her leave the same way as Al did.

Roy's _still_ standing in the doorway. I suspect he was there all the time, but I can't be sure. I have a tendency to sort of blackout, to escape the pain. Having automail detached and re-attached within half an hour – Winry is efficient – is taxing.

"Is it always like that?"

I laugh and have to steady myself by gripping the desk.

"This was mild."

I don't know which of the two possibilities is he referring to, but both answers are the same anyway. I pull myself up and for a while just stand, assuring myself that I am capable of it. I am.

I've taken a staggering step towards the doorway, when something catches me from behind and I don't feel up to fight. The realisation dawns at me when I find myself a meter something from the floor, facing Mustang. The bloody jerk-

Is carrying me into his office. I'm laid on the sofa. The door slams shut and he locks it the normal way.

"What's wrong with you, Edward?"

"I'm alright. Let me go – I have to pack-"

"You're not in the shape to go anywhere," he argues. _He_'s wrong. I've done this before and nobody noticed. I can do this again.

"I'm fine. It's just a concussion. I'll live."

He's about to ask why do I let Winry do this to me, but stops himself. He knows. It's the same as… as when he lets Riza shoot at him. He could stop it. Easily. But doesn't. I couldn't stop it _as_ easily, but I don't give a damn. I'm going to be sick a few times on the train, sleep it out, and before we reach whatever city it is where we dismount, I'll be fine.

"Edward-"

"I don't want you to patronise me, _Roy_," I force through clenched teeth and make to stand up. He doesn't let me.

"If a doctor saw you they would keep you in the hospital for-"

"Then it's a good thing that they don't see me," I snap irately and throw his hand off.

"Major Elric…"

I straighten my back. Don't you fucking dare forbid me to go.

"Make sure you _do come back_."


	8. Child

This is the end. I hope you have enjoyed reading this at least as much as I have enjoyed writing it… yadda yadda… here's the chapter. Love you, all my reviewers.  
Brynn

Chapter 7: Child

"Were're here."

"Yeah."

I sigh. I don't want to go up there. I don't want to face consequences. But I guess there's no choice. I'm going there and lick the hand that feeds me as a proper dog. A proper slave.

"What's wrong, brother?" Al asks. So many things. I wouldn't know where to start. But what worries me worst right now is the man waiting to receive my report, because I… I was gone so long that my memories are skewed and I don't know what to think. How to act.

"Can't you guess? I have to listen to the Colonel's _long_ and sarcastic remarks again… 'So the Philosopher's Stone in Lior was fake, too? How long are you going to continue to use military funds on this wild goose chase?'" Now I'm getting out of character. Doesn't matter. A bit of exaggerating can be healthy. "'Oh? Where's Edward-kun?' 'I'm here!' 'I'm sorry, I'm sorry-'" Now I'm totally out of character. Mustang doesn't apologise, not even when he's ridiculing someone.

"'I couldn't see you over the pile of papers…'" That happened. I know about it. But screw him for rubbing it in… Al is embarrassed by my little role-playing. He's sneaking off. Thinking I don't notice, too absorbed in hating Mustang. Oh, hate him I do.

"But, as you said, we're here, so I must face what I must face… Lets go, Al!"

He's gone. A suit of armour can't sneak too quietly, but for a good measure I check all the directions.

"Huh… Al?"

He's crouching in the corner… Oh no.

"Al!"

I'm going to have to be cruel again. I hate this. But there's nothing to do about it. I don't have my own house to be able to take care of a cat.

A

He was a right prick. I let him know by _bowing_ to him as I was leaving, but he didn't even bother to look at me. He wouldn't tell me about Marco and it's more than obvious that he knew the doctor. Or at least knew _about_ the doctor. Well, my bad feeling from this morning just got worse. And I have a damn good idea how to wipe that smirk – I've had weeks to think about it. He's going to be sorry.

I'm being inconsiderate right now, because he has a lot on his mind with the entire Headquarters sardined in his building, plus most of the Alchemists who escaped from Central. I don't envy him the paperwork. But… Oh no, I don't want to talk to Maes. Not after I fled from the birthday party…

So Elysia rides a tricycle, and? I have a lot of my own problems… one Mustang… no. I absolutely refuse to be troubled by him…

Anyway, this invasion is too suspicious. Something is happening, and it won't be good for anyone in the military. I'm afraid of these phantoms. I can face danger I understand, but fighting shadows… I cannot do this.

And Roy has to. Damn. Talk about confused.

A

"No."

"I'm not arguing with you, Colonel. I submitted the challenge. I only thought it was _fair_ to inform you." Besides, you were the first one being impossible. And this is going to be fun. So stop looking so glum – you don't have to really scorch me, if it possibly turned out that you really are better.

"I don't accept."

I smirk, though I don't really feel like it. The choice is not his. I managed to manipulate him. I deserve a metal.

"Let's make a bet. If I win, you tell me about Marco."

"What about the cat Alphonse keeps in the dormitory?"

I wave my hand dismissively, though I feel a pang of guilt.

"Wouldn't want Ai-chan to claw its eyes out. She would be jealous. Though I can't fathom why," I growl and make to leave. I'm already by the door when he speaks.

"I don't accept."

Screw you, Colonel.

You will want to wring my neck in the next few days. You have many contacts, but I have some too. And the most important man is on _my_ side this time.

A

I'm nervous. My hands are shaking and my throat is dry. I never thought that I… after facing so many people who really tried to _kill_ me… that I would be this nervous about a mock-battle. But it's him in the opposite corner, the Flame Alchemist, the one most of the audience betted on. Well, I'm not a kid. I'm tougher than they think. I am. Really.

My ears catch the 'bean boy' comment and I take it as a clue to vent some of my jitters by starting a rant. Al holds me back.

"Stop calling me small!"

"Calm down, brother." Easy to say.

"Oh, well… today is an important day, when I can hit Colonel's face in front of everyone without consequences…"

"But, brother, I thought the Colonel helped us out…" Sweet, sweet Al. You have no idea of all the things he does to 'help us out'. But that doesn't mean I'm going to melt and go starry-eyed on him like Riza. Poor lass.

"He used me like a slave, threatening to reveal my secret." Sorry, Roy. But you _are_ a jerk.

"So, you have a plan?"

"I'll hit him with my fist!"

I want to laugh now. It really helped a lot with the nerves. I can face the jerk. He's just my stupid superior who happens to like the same kind of beverage as I.

"I don't care about the assessment. But if I win, you're going to give me information on Doctor Marco." Al is safe now. And far away. Good for him.

"_And_ you're going to take care of the cat." Al is far, but Maes listens. Maes is waaay too perceptive; I'll try to avoid him knowing too many of my secrets.

He's smirking. I'll wipe it off. Today I can.

"Now then…"

Hughes is off. Clever man. Only I am as stupid as to stand here. I remember you from the station, still, Colonel Roy Mustang, Flame Alchemist. But that doesn't mean you intimidate me… even if you do, a little.

"Ready – fight!"

"Too slow," he says.

A

I am. Too slow. For him. And I didn't deserve that off-handed compliment. And…

I didn't want to see him like that. Weak. Terrified. Haunted. Not even if it meant I 'won'. I have the feeling that this match wasn't such a splendid idea.

"Waaah. That's why I didn't want to do this."

Bollocks.

"Colonel… Why did you go easy on me?" I didn't need you to. You should have won, fair and square. I don't need to be handed unfair victory to boost my ego.

"The last attack. You've had enough time to finish me off."

He looks away from my eyes and his shoulders slump a little. Haunted. Just like before, during the match. Part of me wants to go over there and… I don't know… hug him or something. But I remain where I am.

"It took place many years ago. There was a rebellion in a place called Ishbal."

"The one that took place in the East when the Ishbal people clashed with military?"

"I saw a lot of unpleasant things."

I know that feeling. I suppose it was obvious to me for a long time that you have your own store of horror-stories. That's why I feel so… so attracted to you. That's why I trust you.

"Doctor Marco, who ran away from the battlefield, was the sanest person there. I still believe that."

"That's why you didn't tell me anything?" Yeah, I can understand that. It still isn't safe… and the more it means to me, although I'll probably never tell you either way.

"Perhaps you should see him as well. Marco, that is."

My eyes widen in shock.

"He's alive?" So that's why you didn't tell anything! Now it makes sense. I'm sorry I've been a pain in the arse about it.

"Colonel, I still haven't heard the reason why you stopped the last attack… Nevermind." I suppose I _have_ heard the reason. But…

No, don't turn around! Riza and Alphonse are watching and we are meant to be working here! They'll come to pry us apart to stop us from killing each other-

"Edward." He stands up from the rum he was sitting on and I have to crane my neck a bit to see his face. He has _those_ eyes again. I can't look away for long enough to confirm whether the two blurs moving out of focus are indeed Riza and Al.

"Would you mind me telling you some… stories?"

I shake my head. For a totally insane moment I want to kiss him. But that's Riza's gun aimed at his temple and I have to scowl and grumble something about a stuck-up lazy git to appease the two intruders.

Minutes later, Roy is chest-deep in a crater, absently tapping the rock with the side of his spade while I'm transfiguring the mass into a resemblance of flat surface. We're carefully back to back. Riza doesn't watch us in favour of conversation with my brother.

"I have to make sure Al gets rid of the cat. So…"

"You can't," he says quietly. And then… "I understand."

No, you don't, jerk. I meant nothing like that.

"You're not coming."

I roll my eyes.

"I didn't say that. I'm going to be late."

A

"I know that I said I'd be late, but I didn't mean this late," I say from the kitchen chair where I'm sitting, petting Ai-chan, upon hearing the front door open. Mustang staggers inside and he looks a whole lot worse than he did a few hours ago – I realise when he gets into sight.

"You're smashed," I state coldly and set the cat on the floor. She leaves. Mustang slumps into the opposite chair. He looks bad.

"Maes wanted to talk. I didn't have a believable excuse." Apology accepted. I haven't been sitting here too long, anyway.

"I'll make coffee." He looks like he needs it. I can do with some, too, lest I would fall asleep right now. The day was long and eventful. I got to kick Roy's ass… except that I blotched it. But I'm not disappointed. It was all I wished it to be.

"You said you have a story to tell me."

He rubs the root of his nose. Headache, on top of everything.

"Too many… There's something more important. Edward, the National Alchemists fled Central because of a serial murderer."

That doesn't make sense.

"Alchemists are scared of a murderer?"

"He killed ten National Alchemists so far. And he-"

I can see where he aims.

"Followed the procession. He's here. You're afraid." I wait for a while, but he doesn't acknowledge me. It means I hit – full score. Damn. There's a serial murderer running around and Roy, Al and me are primary targets. I'm so glad Winry's back in Risenbool.

"Does Hughes have a descritpion?"

"A bloke with a scar on his forehead, shaped like a cross."

I freeze. That's… improbable. But that man… he asked me if I was a National Alchemist. Uh.

"They call him 'Scar'."

I set a mug of muddy brown liquid in front of him. No point in worrying. But it could be a good idea to get assigned to a mission _quickly_.

"What did _you_ want to tell me?"

He laughes. 'So many things.'

"I wanted to give you something."

Fighting gravity, he stands up and trudges out of the room, leavig the steamy drink on the table. A while later he's back, takes a sip, and throws a folded sheet of paper in front of me.

I straighten it and stare. It's a map. There is a faded grey cross over the mark of a small village. I look up at Mustang. He swallowes a mouthful of coffee.

"Marco."

He doesn't just know that the man's alive, he knows _where_. No wonder he was being thick-headed about it before.

"Thanks."

"About the assessment-"

I shake my head.

"I have an idea. A story, right?"

He nods.

"Thanks, Roy," I repeat, stand up, and make for the front door. Ai is nowhere in sight – pity, I wanted to say Goodbye. It's strange, how I'm going to miss the cat, even though I really saw it twice. Thrice, counting today.

"Goodbye," I whisper into the darkness. My fingertips are already touching the knob-

A pair of arms that are stronger and faster than mine spins me around.

"What do you think you are doing, Hagane?" Roy asks and I absently reach to brush his hair out of his eyes. I want to see- there's incomprehension and the obligatory pain. What does he not understand? Aren't my actions clear?

"I'm enough of a nuisance as it is," I say evenly and shrug off his hands. He stands there for a while, assessing me, and I, for all in the world, don't have an idea what's stopping me from turning around and leaving the place. Forver. Finally, he smirks.

"Stupid, stupid child."

Three things I'm not.

But when he kisses me again I realise there are still too many things I have to learn. Still too many years in front of me. I want the shining white world again, to squash the desire to die. He knows. Maybe he does, too.

I've been stupid, and I've been a child. And he doesn't mind.

OWARI


End file.
